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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27428977">the best day (with you)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/peterspajamas/pseuds/peterspajamas'>peterspajamas</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>peterspajamas' Comfortvember 2020 [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel Cinematic Universe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>A little, Alternate Universe - Office, Anxiety, CEO James Rhodes, Comfort, Interviews, Job Interviews, Kind Tony Stark, M/M, Nervous Steve Rogers, Office, Personal Assistant Tony Stark, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Slash, that's technically the prompt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 00:35:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,312</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27428977</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/peterspajamas/pseuds/peterspajamas</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Day 4 Comfortvember: Anxiety</p><p>Steve's going to interview for a job in the Rhodes building and he almost misses the interview: thankfully, a kind Tony helps him out.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Steve Rogers/Tony Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>peterspajamas' Comfortvember 2020 [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1996636</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>40</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>the best day (with you)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I'm saving day three's prompt for something else. bear with me, I know I'm a few days behind. LET ME LIVE</p><p>canon destiel is the funniest thing that's happened in weeks, my tumblr is exclusively memes lol. find it in my profile or <a href="https://jean-and-diet-coke.tumblr.com/">here</a></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Day 4: Anxiety</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A drop of water bled down the chilled glass, leaving a clear streak behind. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was delicious. The water. Passed right through his throat and took away the thirst. Steve sighed lightly and stood up, drinking it in one gulp. His fingertips wiped away the rest of the water on the sweating glass. ‘Get out of the house!’ Sam yelled.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve adjusted the tie he was wearing, craning his neck over the mirror, scowling at the skinny face in the mirror. ‘Shut up, Sam!’</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘Only when you get the fuck up!’ he replied, appearing in the doorway, disgruntled. Steve frowned, clenching his jaw and turning on his heel. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘I am up.’</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sam pushed him lightly. ‘Get on the subway.’ Steve wrinkled his nose. Sam’s witty, domineering attitude brought about nostalgia. For Bucky. Steve’s lips quirked up in a smile. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘I’ll be back later today. Get cinnamon rolls at the store.’ Sam nodded, shooting him a smile and some finger guns, before walking past their comfy leather couch to the very modest kitchen.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve became a whirlwind on the subway, flitting about and flying through the dkdfdk’s. Jostled by random passengers and folding in on himself, he itched to take out his pack of letters that he kept from Bucky. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Alas, they were worn thin. It was the fluttering anxiety in his stomach prompting him to think of them and the sooner he got this over with, the better. A gust of wind blew through the streets the very second he emerged back onto the sidewalk, almost bowling him over. He blinked, eyes stinging in the brief wind, and hurried along the sidewalks. </span>
  <span></span><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>If only he could afford a taxi. The closer he got to the Rhodes building, the more he wanted to hide. Under a bed, preferably. ‘Watch it,’ someone growled beside him. He frowned wordlessly. THere were some scraps of paper underfoot and warm, heated air escaped from the building in front of him. A pack of revolving doors dumped people in and out of the glass walls, more like a scene from Willy Wonka than real life.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve’s stomach fluttered again. Gingerly, he stepped through into the lobby, shoulders relaxing when the warm air settled around him. ‘I’m here to apply- interview- for the personal secretary position,’ he sort of stuttered out, smiling nervously at a receptionist. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘Floor 72.’ Steve nodded, making a mental note. The receptionist was pretty but harried, his dark brows and dark eyes furrowing, the minute expressions telling more than anything else could. ‘And the interviews start at ten.’</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve checked his watch absently as he wandered the atrium to a staircase. It led to a second floor of balconies. A comfy bench waited for him there and he collapsed, wheezing and rubbing his hands over his ears to warm up. ‘Stupid asthma,’ he grumbled. ‘Stupid… I don’t know. Stupid winter.’</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was pretty nervous about the position. With his health issues and everything, he might not be able to move around as much as Mr. Rhodes needed, fetching everything. Right? That seemed important for such a vital role. Personal secretary. He’d looked it up online and it meant everything from a glorified intern to a personal assistant that was more like a second CEO. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Though, he was pretty sure the latter position was already filled. Anthony Stark was like Mr. Rhodes’ right hand man. He’d written the article for TIME magazine. Steve had read that one fifty times. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yeah, yeah. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>wanted this job. All night last night, he’d tossed and turned, rehearsing his answers to the questions anyone might ask, curled up in a nest of blankets heavier than he ws. Or so claimed Sam. He checked his phone again. Message from Sam: </span>
  <em>
    <span>good luck Steve!</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was 9:45. Glancing up, the line for the elevator was long. He stood up, winding around the polished floor with his large coat dwarfing the small body inside of it, well and truly tiny. They packed into the elevator again and the doors closed after him. Inside his chest, Steve’s heart was beating like a snare drum. 9:54. He had a little more than five minutes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He waited in line, smiling a small smile at the man waiting next to him. ‘Good morning.’ The man nodded, looking at him strangely. Steve flushed when he realized there was a bluetooth in his ear, a tiny string of what he recognized as Japanese coming out. International corporation. Right. Steve only knew one language that fluently. The rest was an iffy survival level kind of thing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Truthfully, he didn’t understand how he’d gotten this far in the process. From a billion people, he could be the least qualified. The more he thought about it, the more he thought it was a fluke. The toe of his tattered shoe pressed against the floor, rhythmic tapping. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ping!</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His head snapped up. ‘Wait!’</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The woman at the front frowned at him. ‘This one is full,’ she told him. He watched as the elevator door closed, checking his phone again. 9:58.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘Oh no,’ he whispered. ‘Oh- oh no.’ </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘Something wrong?’ Steve’s stomach turned with anxiety and he shook his head, teeth chattering. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why </span>
  </em>
  <span>was his stupid body </span>
  <em>
    <span>still cold</span>
  </em>
  <span>? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘I have to be somewhere,’ he said, strained and dismayed, chewing on his lip. ‘I’m going to miss my appointment.’</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The man next to him was handsome. A charming grin on his face, a pretty spiral of hair gelled up. He looked like a Hollywood star, with the expensive suit to match. In comparison, Steve was shit. ‘Need an elevator?’ he asked smoothly, turning to the side with his eyes turned back to check if Steve was following. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He jerked his head, beckoning Steve along. Steve trailed after. Like a duckling. ‘Yeah,’ he stuttered. ‘I do.’ </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘I have a private one,’ he said with a wry smile, ushering Steve into an alcove of quiet. A few splashes of green plants made him smile slightly, ducking his head. ‘Perks of being close to the boss.’ </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve nodded a little too eagerly. ‘I’m interviewing for a position. I can’t be late,’ he rushed to say. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘That’s nice. Here, come on. Keep this a secret, okay?’ the man asked, leading Steve into the elevator. He was all lean muscle and sparkling grin. ‘If you get the job, though, you can use it.’ He leaned against a wall as the elevator began its leisurely rise. Steve smiled shyly, biting his tongue so he didn’t say anything stupid. ‘Not much for talking, huh?’ </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It broke a smile out of Steve’s worn face. ‘Just nervous. I don’t like job interviews.’</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘Why? You think you aren’t good enough?’ he asked sympathetically. Steve huffed out a laugh. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘Guessed it on your first try, huh?’ he replied.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Floor 72 was already pressed. ‘Of course, darling,’ the man breezed. ‘Tony, by the way.’ </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘I’m Steve,’ he supplied. ‘Thank you.’ He took in a deep breath, but as the doors opened, Tony faced him, looking him in the eyes. He had deep golden brown eyes, very arresting. Steve could feel it in the elevator, too, there was too much of a possibility that he’d be positively enchanted. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gently, giving Steve time to duck away or step out, he rested his hands on Steve’s shoulders. ‘You’ve got this. I believe in you!’ he announced cheerily. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It made Steve smile slightly. ‘Thanks, Tony.’</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘You’re welcome, Steve.’ </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘Stark! Step away from the blonde!’ a redhead shouted across the room. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tony swung towards her and Steve began to gape. ‘I’m encouraging him, Pep!’ But he followed her orders, neatly saluting at Steve and stepping through a door, hugging James Rhodes, the whole owner of the building </span>
  <em>
    <span>and </span>
  </em>
  <span>the company. ‘Luck, Steve! I’ll see you in the break room if all goes well!’ </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve’s cheeks turned pink. ‘I’m Steve Rogers. Here for the interview.’</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>please comment?? and kudos? idc if you're a thousand years late to the party I just love seeing feedback lol.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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